Spotlight
by Goldielochs
Summary: Beau is an up and coming author, battling his social anxieties while peddling his new novel in NYC when he has what might be the worst day in his life or what might be the greatest. (All human. Beau x Edward)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns these characters.**

 **(If you don't know, "Beau" is Stephanie's canon male version of Bella in "Life and Death".) Yes this is slash. I couldn't get this meet-cute out of my head so I just had to write it out. It's been a sort of personal fantasy. Please enjoy.**

* * *

 **Spotlight**

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I blew it. I completely bombed. My still shaking hands turned on the cold water. Pressing the cool water to my face, I moaned exasperatedly into my hands. My antagonized grunts reverberated around the public restroom until they were interrupted by the flush of a toilet. I froze and the blood drained out of my flushing cheeks. I instantly felt woozy from the emotional upheaval but I managed to go rigid into place. I thought I was alone.

A man in a business suit stepped out awkwardly and tried his best to ignore my frozen body at the sink. He flicked his hands under the water, not bothering with the soap that was in front of me. I was too nervous to read the name on his badge, and kept my eyes glued in front of me, peering out behind my fingers. However, I just read the NBC logo and that was enough to tip me off that he worked for the network. I kept my face covered while he reached over and grabbed the hand towels on my left. The door slammed behind him. The gong of the door, a sign that I was once more, to my knowledge, alone. I moaned again and let self hatred flood my system and surround myself again.

After I let it all out and made sure that my complexion was somewhat presentable again I stepped outside into the crowded streets of NYC. My phone rang again for the ninth time. I didn't have to read it to know that it was my agent. Probably to chastise me, no doubt. Or worse, I gulped, it could be my publisher telling me they were dropping me.

I sighed, deciding I couldn't hold back the flood gates and answered.

"What's the damage?" I asked while leaning against the black speckled building of 30 Rockefeller plaza.

"What." Alice breathed. "The." She paused. "Hell."

I combed my hair up from the back of my neck. Alice, my literary agent, my rock, my friend, and also my nightmare wrapped up into one frightening package had pulled every favor she had stored up to land me this TV spot on the Today Show. When I found Alice, I had been stalking a few agents on their instagrams and twitters, trying to get a feel for their personalities, and which one I could see myself working with in the long run. I knew if I sent my manuscript out to a hundred agents, eventually I would get a yes, but I didn't want one yes. I had to think about the future and if the agent that went out on a limb on me didn't like my other projects, then I had wasted my time. I didn't want to get into business with someone I couldn't see eye to eye with.

But through all my extensive research, Alice fell into my lap so to speak.

She had fired my ex, Mike as one of her clients.

Mike, god bless, did not have an original idea in his bone and after repeatedly telling him to rework the beginning of his work in progress and telling him he needed to amp up the climax, she told him to look for a new agent.

Funnily enough, I had told him the same thing when we broke up. He was pretty lousy in bed and not even good at making coffee in the morning. I think I might have been his first. He never admitted that, but he definitely didn't seem to know what he was doing with another man. It had been over a year since Mike and I dated. It was a mistake from the start and I thank the stars that it only lasted a few weeks. Most of that time was spent with me questioning how on earth I had ended up there and whether or not I could just leave. We met at a mixer put on by our publishers at the time for the debut authors to meet and invited some more established authors they had to varying degrees of notoriety.

I hated these things, but my contract said I had to attend at least one a year. I intended to sit in a corner and wave at people and drink until an appropriate time for me to hail a cab and stumble back to my hotel. Mike ended up stumbling with me that night.

He was boring. And it didn't take me long to figure out that we just were not a good fit. In any realm, we just didn't click. We were two bottoms and it wasn't working. Though Mike didn't even seem to notice. The last straw was when he insisted I read his rough draft.

It was. . . to put it tamely: shit.

He wanted me to prove his agent wrong. He wanted me to say that her criticisms were just biased bullshit.

I read over the email Alice had sent him and laughed at her wit. There were ways she insulted him that had gone over his head. I agreed with every single point. I knew then and there that I had to have Alice as my agent. So I shook Mike off as a lover, and took Alice on as my agent.

Over the year, she'd turn into more than just my agent. We'd become friends. It was nice to have someone to talk to that understood my frustrations, but I didn't feel like I had to compete with her. I hadn't had any deep conversations with her. I don't know her middle name or where she grew up. But I knew I could count on her if I needed help. I hoped she felt the same about me, though right now, I knew I had let her down.

"I told you." I sighed. "I told you, I don't do cameras."

"Oh, so it's my fault that you spilled water on Matt Lauer's trousers and knocked a light stand down into frame and it exploded on the carpet and set fire to the coffee table. That's my fault?"

"There were so many cords. You can't see them, but there are so many cords. It's so easy to just trip and-" I tried to defend myself.

"Beaufort Swan." Alice used my real name and I winced. I wrote under the pseudonym Bear Swanson, under my mother's direction who said I would never sell books to a younger audience with a name like Beaufort. She told me once again that it was my father's idea to name me Beaufort, which then started her looping monologue of reasons why my father was shit. My father, had a similar story as to why my mother wanted to name me Beaufort. To be honest, I liked my name despite the obvious tension it gave my parents even now after 27 years after naming me. My friends just called me Beau. But my mom had always called me her "little bear" growing up. And because I was writing action/thriller/mystery I decided to have a name that reflected that genre. I figured it would be beneficial for me in the long run. I always had my eyes on the long run. Bear became my alias in the attempt that it would attract a reader just on that alone. Though, thinking about it now, "Bear Swanson" was just as a ridiculous name as my own. However, it worked to a degree. My first book got picked up a publisher even without an agent. It sold and was well received for a debut author. The new york times called me "Daring" and "Vulnerable." But then I got screwed over as far as the contract deals go. I got very little payout with my publisher, which I'll let go unnamed. I didn't think I would actually make money on writing, so I didn't invest the time necessary to make sure that I wasn't setting myself up to be played. That was my mistake. I went in without having someone who knew the legalize of corporate publishers. Alice was a godsend. She was my warrior in the face of pencil pushing brown nosers. However, now, her mighty sword was pointing towards me.

"You were sitting in a fucking chair. You just had to sit and smile and say some cute self deprecating thing like you always do and tell people to buy your book. How?" I could hear Alice's blood vessel in her temple swell. "How are you supposed to be Bear Swanson? The light of the modern written word, Bear fucking Swanson, when you can't even string a few sentences together in an interview, let alone leave the set without setting the place on fire?"

"You don't think I know that?" I nearly yelled into the phone. "You don't think I understand what this does for my image?"

"Your image? What does this look like for _me_?" Alice whinned. "No publisher is going to want you to do interviews. . . ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. And do you know what that means?"

"That I can stay in my house and never come out?" I said hopefully.

"It means that I got a black listed author who can't show his face to the public, can't do tours, can't even talk to children, can't sell his book. And do you know what that means?"

"Alice." I gulped. "Are you dropping me?" My worst fear gripped me, worse than the humiliation I just suffered through in front of a live tv audience all across america.

"It means, that you better sell a damn good book." Alice grimaced. "Which, I know you've written. So now it's my job to make sure people know about it, because you are obviously too clumsy to take anywhere. Which means, I'm going to have a lot more sleepless nights. Are you still in the city?"

"I'm still at rockefeller."

"Perfect. My plane will be at JFK in about three hours. Chill out. Go back to your hotel, find a coffee shop. Don't think about The Today Show. And we'll talk in person about our game plan."

Like me, Alice was always thinking about the future and trying to predict next moves. She didn't focus on the present but was always calculating tomorrow.

I stepped outside of the shadow of the building and the brisk autumn air and the warm rays of the sun calmed me down some. Like the universe was trying to give me a space to take a breath. Then the sun was overshadowed and cold again. I popped my eyes open to see a double decker tourist bus. My face was three feet away from a larger than life promotional advertisement for a movie that had come out three weeks ago. "The Devil You Know." It was a melodrama with a star studded cast. Already the movie was getting Oscar buzz. I'd seen it. To be honest, I didn't think much of it. It seemed to be in love with itself too much to really peirce the veil of the relatable. The male lead was currently staring right at me from the advertisement. Green eyes staring up from a brooding expression. Waves of long blond hair pulled up into a ponytail. Elliott Cullen.

I rolled my eyes. Of course, like the rest of the world I had a crush on him in my teens. I knew more about him than the girls in my class who talked obsessively about him. But, like all things, I grew up. I got older. My interests changed. I realized that actors were just people and they shouldn't be idolized. I learned quickly that movie stars were not what you should expect from love interests and I set my goals on more realistic expectations. Which meant a long slew of men who I'd more or less settled for, dumped, and moved on. Elliott had too, throwing away his heartthrob pop roles for more serious work. I guess, I had always been a fan and we just grew up together that way.

Standing in front of the advertisement now I felt foolish. Maybe I was taking the movie too seriously when I watched it before. Maybe I was going in with jaded glasses because the film industry and the book industry had always had a bit of a tumultuous relationship. The worst words an author could hear are "I'll wait till the movie comes out."

There was a starbucks on nearly every block. I stepped inside the closest one and immediately regretted it. I forgot why I tried to stay out of the city as much as possible, especially this close to all the tourists. The small coffee shop was crammed with people in bulky clothes and long complicated drink orders and full of impatience.

One of the usual perks of working from home, was that I didn't normally have to interact with anyone except for my dog and my cat and that's how I liked it. I loved writing. But I hated selling my work. However, I couldn't afford to write if I couldn't sell my work. That's why I was in NYC and not my apartment back in New Mexico. I was a long way from home, but this city was starting to grow on me, despite the crowds. There was a way to be alone like I never could in my apartment. The more I thought about it and the more time I spent here, the more I realized this was the loneliest city I think ever existed. That wasn't a negative in my book. Even though you couldn't go two feet without bumping into someone, you were very much not interacting with anyone. Everyone was their own ecosystem here, little planets scurrying around on sidewalks and orbiting around different buildings, but careful not to collide with other's course through space. Rotating lonely planets on their own floating through the city. It was exhilarating.

However, as much as I loved being alone together with strangers, right now I need to be secluded and to forget where I was. I didn't need a crowded starbucks.

After thirty minutes of staggering around the streets of manhattan I found a small basement level cafe with a sign reading "Coffee Nook."

I ambled down the stairs and looked inside. The walls were a dark slate grey, with small cracks running up the side. My feet creaked along the old wood flooring, announcing my presence. A barista looked up from the counter holding a paperback book in his hand. He nodded in my direction, saw my hesitation, and then turned his attention back to the book.

I looked for a menu or a black board with their specialities. After a few minutes of slyly looking to no avail I walked up to the counter and placed my order.

"London Fog, please." I tried to say with confidence. I wasn't sure it worked. I had to use the reserve tank and I was worried I wouldn't have enough to get through even one human interaction today.

"Vanilla syrup?" He didn't even look up as he started marking a cup.

"One pump." I nearly grinned, thankful I didn't have to explain what a London Fog was.

"Coming up." He tossed the cup in his hand and I heard him pouring hot water for the earl grey near the espresso machine.

I glanced around the room. Nearly every table was taken except for one in the front by the door. Most of the patrons of this establishment were either reading, on a laptop or talking quietly in reserved tones fitting for a cathedral. I sat there and began to take my jacket off when the barista put my tea latte on the counter. When I bounded for the counter I turned back to my table by the door and got a full view of the next person coming in. Of all the places. Of all the cities. Of all the coffee shops. Mike loser Newton walked into this one.

I zigzagged and angled myself away from his line of sight. I bit my lip as the hot latte spilled on my hand and I had to stamp down the reaction to jump and shout. Hopefully Mike didn't see me as he was closing the door behind himself.

Keeping my head down I shuffled quickly towards the back corner. If I had to chose between two evils, I would go towards the stranger than the annoying ex that wouldn't let go of me. I didn't even have to think about it.

I sat down at a table occupied by someone with his face obscured by a book. All I could see was reddish brown hair peeking out over the top.

"Sorry." I whispered to the stranger in front of me and cranked my head towards the wall to the left, still worried that if Mike looked over he could see me. "I'm trying to avoid someone that just walked in. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting. I'll leave when the coast is clear."

The man in front of me peered around his book. I could see the movement in my peripherie but I kept my eyes on the wall, too self conscious to look back and too nervous to be discovered.

Without a word the man returned back to the book and though he didn't say anything, I knew there was an understanding between us.

After a few a minutes, my neck started to hurt. I tried to sneak my hand into the messenger bag I slung to the floor and grabbed a book out of it. The left overs from when I was signing this morning. I used it as cover so I could stretch my shoulders.

"Is he still here?" I whispered through tight lips. I hoped that the stranger understood my predicament and could help a fellow out, even in the dog eat dog world of NYC. I hope he didn't mind that my planet was hitching a ride on his gravitational plane.

He nodded and I got a quick glimpse of distinguished eyebrows popping above the book in his hand. Instinctively, I turned to look at him. That was a big mistake. I regretted it almost immediately.

"Swanson?" Mike called from across the floor.

"Shit." I hissed. While his footsteps drew near I braced myself and pulled on a fake smile.

"Good god, it is you." Mike swung a well meaning hand in my direction. I shriveled away from it.

"Mike." I sighed. "How nice to see you." I was never a great actor and didn't care if he heard the slime I coated with every word. "It's been a while."

"It sure has. You never returned my emails." His eyes narrowed.

I just shrugged.

"Hoh, there." Mike looked at the book in my hand. "Are you reading your own book?"

I glanced down and grimaced anew. "Just checking for typos." I said through clenched teeth.

"You're not thinking about making a sequel are you?" Mike shook his head. "Oh, no. I can see it. You got, 'Maybe I should write a sequel' written all over you. I know that look. Trust me, it's a bad idea."

I rolled my eyes.

"What brings you to the big city?" Mike kept asking questions. "Oh, wait. I saw Alice's twitter feed. You were on the Today show this morning, weren't you?"

I stopped myself from banging my head on the desk.

"Yes." I responded quietly. He didn't know. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen my epic failure.

"How'd it go?"

Should I lie and tell him I did great, only to know that he would find the clip on youtube later and probably masturbate to it laughing hysterically. Or should I tell him the truth and hear him laugh in my face. I didn't answer.

"I did a few tv spot a few months back. You know, for the book your agent called 'food for the swine.'."

"I'm aware." I droned.

"Well, I'm sure you did fine. As long as they didn't point the cameras at your nose." He laughed thinking he said some funny joke but I didn't move and neither did the stranger in front of me oddly. "You're cute enough, I suppose. I mean that's the only reason I dated you to begin with."

I couldn't help the sigh escape my lips. And I could see the stranger drop his book slightly from his face but I was too embarrassed and stunned to do or say anything.  
"I'll let you in on a secret, because we have history."

"History." I guffawed. I didn't consider a few weeks stint long enough or important enough to be called "history."

Mike continued to give me his advice on whatever bullshit he could come up with to seem superior. If I was in top form and my interaction tank hadn't been depleted I probably would have done something to stop him, but as it was I was a deer caught in headlights and Mike was the car zooming towards me and not hitting the breaks. "So with interviews, the trick is to let the interviewer answer their own questions. I would know, the camera loves me. You really shouldn't have been ignoring my emails, I could have been a great asset."

I couldn't believe he was trying to give me advice. And no. I couldn't believe the camera loved him. He was not interesting in the slightest.

"Excuse me." The stranger I was sitting with interrupted him politely. He placed his book down on the coffee table."If you don't mind. We'd like some privacy."

Mike blinked at him and then back to my face and then back to him. He took a few steps back. It took me just a moment to figure out why. I turned to face my rescuer and found myself staring, just a few inches away from the high profile A list celebrity, Elliott Cullen.

A wicked grin spread across my face as I turned from Elliot back to Mike. "Yes, please excuse us. If I need you I'll have Alice get with your people. Who's representing you again? The Mitchum group?" Like I had received a power up in an 8-bit game, I had a second wind. An extra life. A power up. I had Elliott Cullen on my side. He was a level of famous that was. . . so so so so much more than an author ever could hope to be (and I didn't hope to be famous at all. I just wanted people to read my books). Elliot was on a completely other universe. Snap-and-the world-listened kind of famous.

Mike sprouted out in red patches, completely at loss for words.

"That'll be all." I said, as if putting the final arrow into the back of the dragon that Elliot had just grounded by himself.

Mike, like a disobedient puppy, shuffled away with his tail between his legs, but he kept throwing glances back our way.

Elliott watched him leave. And I watched Elliot.

"Thanks." I stared up at him. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it." Elliot shrugged. "I'm Elliot." He grinned, the corner of his lips pulled to one side in a devious smirk. He held out his hand and I somehow managed to shake it without combusting into a million pieces of human confetti. Holy mother of god.

"I'm Beau." I said, using up nearly all of my second wind in sounding self assured and confident in front of him.

"Beau?" His eyebrows raised then he glanced at the book on the table. My book. The name on the spine read Bear Swanson. Shit. And Mike had called me that too.

"It's a fake name." I fessed up.

He grinned. "My name's not really Elliot." He whispered to me, as if we were confidants. I stared up at him. Those green eyes looking up from those tail tell brooding eye lashes, so much more beautiful than any advertisement could show.

"Thanks for saving me. I was drowning." I managed to say.

"I've been there. Stuck in public with some guy that thinks he knows you and that he's better than you. He was a real louse. Mike, was he? Yeah. Just forget about people like that. I've been there." He smiled at me again but I turned away from him. My introvert was showing. Like Cinderella, the clock was striking midnight and I had to leave the ball before I turned into a pumpkin. I quickly opened up my book on the table and with the sharpie still in my pocket, wrote an inscription. My glass slipper. I wordlessly shoved it in his direction.

I got to my feet. I opened up my mouth to say 'thank you' or 'goodbye' or, 'I love you', or 'you smell nice', but I didn't end up saying anything. Then, I paced out of the Coffee Nook and didn't even take another look behind me.

Hours later I was replaying our interaction over and over and over again. I had been so close to an actual. . . to Elliott, or whatever his real name is. And I just. . . left. I just walked out and left like a fucking idiot. He was talking to me. Like a person. Not like I was some fan boy. I probably could have had a conversation with him. . . if I were able to have a conversation at all.

I beat myself up over lunch, cursing my inability to socialize like a normal person.

Alice, sensing my mood, kept quiet while nibbling on her cobb salad that she ordered over room service back in my hotel room. I had given up going anywhere else today. Alice was going to argue, she had planned to take me to a great place in little italy but something in my tone stopped her. I was too in my head at the moment to even really perceive her presence. She didn't know the full extent to why the day sucked, and then was amazing, and then sucked again. She was normally a calming reassurance but after one mishap after the other today, not even she could calm the hurricane of self loathing that raged inside my chest. I didn't hear her phone ring. In my head I was trying to think of all the ways I could die and which would be better. Less painful. As an author of a mystery novel, I had researched the subject often enough. I thought myself a scholar on the various ways I person could snuff it.

"Beau." Alice called my name. "Beau. Hellooooooo. Earth to Beau." She snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"Yes. Sorry." I blinked, and let reality swallow me once again. I was not dead. And as much as I wished, I was not going to kill myself. And as much as I hated it, I was still me, Beau Swan, midgrade author of little to no importance and a huge colossal disaster."What is it?"

Alice was sitting straight as an arrow on her knees on top of my bed. Her hand held her smartphone to her ear. "I'm on the phone with a representative for Elliott Cullen. He would like to have dinner with you tonight."

Dying of shock. That was a new one.

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AN: I couldn't get this out of my head, so I wrote it out. I just kept thinking about this meet-cute. I hope you enjoyed this. I doubt I'll continue with it. I don't know. *shrugs* Who knows. If you liked it, let me know.

xoxo

Rosalie


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.**

* * *

 **Spotlight**

Roughy Date

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I blew it. I completely bombed. Again. And once again I'm stranded in a bathroom waiting for absolute humiliation to stop coloring my face. The loud bumping music from the inside of the dance room vibrates on my back and butt checks on the rather discomfortingly warm toilet seat. There was a line when I came in and there's probably still a line. My needs for privacy dimmed in the light of my constant conscious telling me I'm taking up too much space. Reluctantly, I swing the door open and stare at my feet as I make my way to the trough styles sinks lining the wall ahead. I must have been standing there for quite awhile because the bathroom attendant handed me a scented towel.

"You okay?" The older, kind faced gentleman asks. "Did you take some pills and you didn't know what kind?"

"No." I shook my head. "Sorry. I'm on a date.-"  
"That's nice." The bathroom attendant nodded encouragingly.  
"It's going badly." I finished.  
"Oh, that's a shame. I know it feels horrible now. But in the morning, you'll have a good story." He patted my arm, and I wanted to melt into the greasy tile below my feet. Right. A good story. My next big seller: A Loser Who Flew Too Close to the Sun.

I tried to make my mouth form a smile at the bathroom attendant, but I think it just twitched painfully.

"Oh dear." He sighed. He offered the guy behind me some cologne or hand lotion then turned back to me. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

I leaned against the edge of the sink and took a deep breath.

"Beau?" Alice leaned over the bed at my figure, strung out on the floor. "Beau, you okay?"

I jerked to fling her an exasperated expression. "Do I look okay?"

"Well, pull yourself together." Alice got to her feet and crossed her arms crossed her arms. "What kind of clothes did you bring?"

I pointed to my suitcase in the corner.

"Okay. You will wear this and this." She said after a moment of rummaging around. "And, no. No. We're getting you new shoes. You are not wearing those. No friend of mine is going on a date with the famous Elliott Cullen with those."

"Is this the part of the movie where you take of my glasses and I turn into a pretty dateable girl in the 80's?" I said with my face smushed against the floor.

"Yes." Alice replied with a straight face. "Yes, it is. Tables are turned. I'm the gay best friend now."

I groaned and somehow managed to get on my feet without falling over. Hell hath no fury like my agent when she's on a mission.

"Why do you have such big feet?" Alice huffed as we tried the third shoe store in a row. Apparently no one in downtown manhattan had feet larger than size 13.

I wiggled my eyebrows at her. "Because I have a big-"

"Nope." Alice held her hand up. "I fell right into that one. I get it. You have big pe- nis. Congratulations. You have the humor of a middle schooler. I hope that gets you far with Elliot."

That stopped me short.

"Oh god." I felt the panic come in. "This is going to be horrible. He's going to real- ize how much of a loser I am. We won't have anything in common. I don't know how to 'be' with a famous person."

Alice gripped my shoulders. "Beau. He's just a person. Snap out of it."

"I know that. But, like, how. . ." I tried to find the words. "How do I let him go?"

"What?" Alice blinked.  
"Obviously this isn't going to work out. I mean. I'm me. And he's gorgeous and

funny, and brave and intelligent. And I know everything about him and he knows nothing of me. It's weird. I'm going to have to watch him walk away and. . . how do I do that?" How could I make her understand?

"Beau. You always do this. Remember the rough draft stages. You kept fretting over how to tie off the strings in the story, but you hadn't even figured out which strings to pull up. You jump the gun. This is just a date. Just a hey, I think you're cute date. Get to know him, let him get to know you. Talk about what it's like being a struggling author with social anxiety, ask him about his favorite projects, or what he does on lazy Sunday afternoons. Be real. Be honest with him. And when the night's over, you'll cross whatever bridge you have to cross then, but don't try to jump over the water when you're still on a concrete road."

I thought for a second. "That was good. Did you just come up with that?"

"No. I read it in a certain client's work. You should read it sometime." Alice raised her eyebrow at me. "The guy who wrote it has some really great perspectives and is a very interesting guy that I'm sure will have a nice time with a nice guy tonight."

"If I can find the right pair of shoes." I amended for her.

"Cinderella's dilemma." Alice sighed and got back to looking through the stacks of boxes.

I smirked, reminded of the note I left for Elliot. That must have been it. Perhaps that's why he reached out. I don't think I could have made much an actual impression. If I asked him, would he tell me the truth? Would I find his answer suitable or would I keep trying to tear us apart at the seams. Maybe I am self deprecating. Scratch. I am self deprecating.

I was in the hotel room again putting on the final touches, when the phone rang. I combed my hair once more, and fixed my collar with nervous hands before I picked it up.

"Mr. Swan. I'm calling from the front desk to inform you that your limousine is ready."

I gulped. "Limousine?"

Alice waved at me from the hallway as I stepped into the elevator. "You look great. Have fun tonight, okay?"

I nodded, too busy trying brace myself for whatever happens next. The inane mu- sic in the elevator was pitiful company for the 20 floor ride to the bottom. I wondered when I would be this alone again and under what circumstances. Was this really happening? Maybe this is all an elaborate ruse.

I wouldn't think Alice was so sadistic but perhaps she was duped too. This is all a joke. I'm going to walk out of this elevator to jack ass laughing at me. Maybe Mike. Or a tabloid magazine. Maybe Ashton Kutcher with his camera crew. Surprise it's 2009 and your on "punk'd."

Then the door opened. No camera crew. Just a pleasant smelling hotel lobby. As I approached the door outside the doorman opened it for me hurriedly. I thanked him awkwardly before ducking outside. The sun was a lowering behind the buildings giving off an orangey glow down the streets. I stared at the black vehicle in front of me, parked right in front of the awning for the hotel. In my head, I guess I expected a stretch limousine. The kind that a group of teenagers pools their allowances for on prom. I'm glad I was mistaken. It was a classy car, but in the city it blended in with all the other stately back vehicles lined on the street like ants. The door opened from the inside and He stepped out. He was still wearing the cotton buttoned up shirt from before, but he wore a blazer on top of it now. His reddish brown hair was combed up, and I couldn't tell if he styled it to look disorderly or if he just happens to have the perfect amount of dishevelment in his hair.

"Hey." Elliot grinned, one corner of his lip pulling up into that smirk I've ogled through my teenage years. Yes. It was real. Yes, I was having a hard time pretending to be a functioning human.

"Hi." I replied breathlessly. He took my breath away.

"I'm Edward." For a second there was a flash of vulnerability in his green eyes. I felt my memories start to shift at the truth of his real name. The letters in every movie poster I'd ever seen with his billing changed in my mind's eye, melting and morphing from Elliot to Edward. He was letting me in, taking off his public persona, and letting me in to the real man. I wanted to explore him like a treasure map.

"Hi, Edward." I felt alive saying his name. "I'm Beau."

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to shake his hand again. He didn't move to do so. I decided to just follow his lead.

"Yes. Beau." He paused for a second. I wondered if he felt the same way about saying my name as I did his. "Would you like to grab dinner?"

"I'd love that."

He nodded, and I saw his shoulders relax a little more. Did he think I might say no? Then Edward gestured for me to get in the car. I did.

"Sorry, to have to invite you to dinner through professional contacts." Edward apologized as he fastened his seat belt and closed the door behind us. The leather seats were soft and warm. A bucket of champagne on ice was in the middle next to the partition. He poured a flute for me and one for himself as the car purred down the street.

"I know that's not exactly a romantic invitation. I prefer to be more personal, but I didn't know how else to find you."

"It was surprising." I admitted while shifting my weight. I took a sip to have some time to figure out the words I wanted to say. The words romantic, and personal. . . and finding me swirled in my head. "I guess, I'm not sure why you went through the trouble." I shrugged.

"I hope you don't get the wrong impression." Edward grinned, and for a second my stomach dropped. Did I read this all wrong? "But I'm actually somewhat a fan of your work."

I rolled my eyes. "That's funny."  
"It's not a joke."  
"Right." I looked down at my hands. I felt something change in the atmosphere in the car, a shift in the dialogue. I didn't realize he would be making fun of me. I mean, compared to him, I'm a bug. It was sort of laughable I suppose, but it still stung.  
"I—. Seat belt." Edward said, his tone a little more solemn.  
"What?"  
"Please. Seat belt." He gestured to the straps by my side. "Still have to obey normal traffic laws."  
Goddamn, why was he so polite?  
By the time I had clicked the metal into it's clasp the car slowed down and I had to unbuckle again as the driver came around and opened the door for Edward and I to get out.

The hostess opened the door for us as we approached the darkened glass doors. I didn't see the name of the restaurant on the door and there wasn't a sign that I could see. The lighting was so, I could only make out the shapes of the people.

"We've been expecting you. We have a table in the back." The young lady in a form fitting black dress and wedge heels walked us to the back corner where a small table made from, what I guess is reclaimed wood. A small Edison style lightbulb in a glass case gave off very little light. I suppose it's supposed to be romantic. But, I had a hard time reading the menu. Am I old? Are my eyes going bad? Am I supposed to be able to read this? Oh god. This is really hip and trendy place and I don't know how to order. Though I couldn't see, I could hear. And the place was noisy. The music was loud, which still didn't drown out the chatter of other guests. For some reason, it made it harder to concentrate.

We silently perused the menu and I tried to hide the fact that I couldn't actually read it to myself. I tried holding it up to my eyes, but quickly put it back to a "cool" distance when the waiter came to the table.

The waiter introduced himself and asked for our drink order.  
"I would like water and a vodka soda, please." Edward asked politely.  
"Make that two." I copied. When in Rome.  
"So, where are you from?"  
"New Mexico. Phoenix."  
"Do you live there currently?"  
"I do. My mom took me there when I was younger when she got divorced." I hesitated. Oh god, nope. Don't talk about being a child of divorce on the first date. Come on, Beau. Rule 1. "I was young." I hurriedly added. "Eventually my mom remarried when I was in high school and moved around with him and sort of settled in Florida. So I lived with my dad for a bit. But I left when I graduated and moved back to Phoenix. I like it there. It's home, you know."

"That must get lonely."

I shrugged. "I never really noticed." Then to change the topic so he wouldn't ask me how I fill my time and realize how absolutely boring I am I turned the question to him. "What about you? Where do you call home?"

"I suppose I have to say Chicago. I was raised there, then moved to LA when my parents died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." I, of course knew his story, like a total creep that lives off of the lives of celebrities, but his was particularly tragic and memorable.

"I was young." Edward shrugged it off, using the words I had said to shrug of my parents divorce. But I knew he wasn't that young. He was 15 when they both got some virus abroad. Edward didn't go with them on their trip because he was in a school play at the time. He quit school and took his parents life insurance monies to set himself up in LA, so he could audition for roles like a full time job until one of them stuck. He lied on all his papers, saying he was 18 so that he didn't have to have a parent's permission. Though, with his circumstances I doubt, that would have mattered.

"I've got a condo here for when I'm in town. But—"  
"But what?" I found myself leaning forward.  
"Well, I don't mean to sound pretentious. I have a few houses in different places,

including Chicago, but I don't really live in any of them. I feel like guest in my own house. I never stay for long anywhere."

"Why is that?"  
"Work mostly." He shrugged.  
"Do you have questions about the menu?" The waitress appeared out of the literal

darkness and I almost fell out of my chair in shock. She placed our drinks in front of us. "I'll have the house special."  
"Two please." I said after taking a gulp of water to hopefully calm my frightened

heart down. I had no idea what the house special was. I knew I probably wouldn't like it. I scratched at my shirt collar. The loud music bumped in my ear.

"I wanted to ask you, something about your book." Edward started slowly. "I didn't like your last movie." I blurted out.  
"What?"

"Shit. No. Sorry. I don't know why I said that." I grabbed for the vodka tonic and drained it. The skin in my feet started to feel fuzzy be the time I hit ice cubes.

"No, continue." Edward said, I couldn't tell what kind of tone he was in. The music was too loud. I couldn't see his expression because the lights were too dark.

Though perhaps that worked in my benefit now, so he couldn't see the blood raise beneath my skin, staining a blush there. "Um."

His green eyes seemed to glow, like a cat in the back alley.

"Well, I thought it was slightly tone deaf." I whispered into my glass of now empty vodka soda.

"And some of the actor's performance didn't seem consistent, but that could have been a problem with the director. And also the writing was so saturated with emotional language, it was hard to distinguish what the motives of each scene were supposed to be."

Edward didn't say anything.

I bit my lip. "Oh god. Sorry. No. I. Oh boy. Okay. Um. Forget it. I shouldn't have— You didn't— I've been a super fan of yours since I was 16. I used to have posters in my room. Not in a creepy way. Oh god. No. Beau. What are you doing. Stop. God, I can't even here myself think in here. I'm shutting up now." I was supposed to be following his lead, and when I didn't, I went off the rails. Not again. I'm only going to speak when he asks me a question again.

We sat in silence for several agonizing minutes. It was only until our dinner arrived that Edward broke out of his stillness and thanked the server.

I helped myself to a big spoonful as soon as the plate touched the table, just so I could have something to do other than being a complete ass. I unrolled the napkin she laid out across my lap, then winced because it was warm and wet. Shit, it was one of those places. Great. Now my pants are wet. I swallowed whatever was in my mouth quickly, barely even able to taste it.

"Our orange roughy fish is hand picked from our private vendor in New Zealand. We get first pick above all the other restaurants in the world. Our chef says to the best way to enjoy the flavors are to place it on different parts of the tongue to really play with your taste buds. Please enjoy. This bottle of wine is on the house." She placed a bottle in front of us and pour us each a glass. I took another bite of food, before my mouth said something stupid again.

"Thank you, so much. You didn't have to." Edward smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

And then to top it all off, Tanya Peirce, the leading actress in half of Edward's films appeard.

"Elli?" She squeeled. "My, my. Coming out of your cave? Listen, I have a new script I want you to look at. Oh, and Charlotte says hello. she loved the flowers you sent her. Is that the arragnement I saw in the times? Listen. I know the oscars are coming up. . . "

She prattled on for a bit and I kept shoving food in my mouth not sure what else to do. I was more annoyed than star struck. And somehow more embarrased than relieved that Edward was distracted for a moment from my mess of a life.

And then there was a camera flash. Just a moment of light exploding in this dark bar. My eyes hurt from the flash. And then all hell broke loose.

Edward stood to his feet. "Did you invite them here?" He turned to Tanya as a swarm of people started to enclose around them. Reporters, paparazzi, the general public. I heard the hostess squeeze through and try to push them back.

"We have a no camera policy. I will call the police. Get out." She said in a strained voice, holding her arms out and trying to block the people from Tanya and Edward, and I guess me.

Edward held his hand up to his forhead and began rubbing his temples. I hadn't moved. "You really like Orange roughy, huh?" Edward said almost so quietly, I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it. It was a miracle I did, because of the background noise. If I hadn't been so focused on everything about him, I might have died.

"Wait. Orange roughy?" I dropped my fork. "Is that what she said this is?" A fresh set of panic played with the alcohol currently floating up my stomach.

Edward raised his eyebrow. "Yes, did you not—"

I immediately spit out the bite I had in my mouth and stood up to my feet. "I have to go." I ran to the left and proceeded to hit a column that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I stumbled back, dazed, but determined. I had to find the bathroom. I had to get away. I had to find a spaceship and fly myself to mars.

"Restroom." I gasped to a passing server. I caught his shirt sleeve in clenched fists. His startled reply pointed me to the side by the kitchen.

The bathroom was somehow fancier than the restaurant. I bypassed the restroom attendant and barricaded myself into one of the stalls. There I proceeded to make myself throw up.

Rule #2. Don't eat seafood you don't know what it is, because it might be orange roughy and I could die. Once I was at the beach visiting my mom when the restaurant served orange roughy by mistake and I ended up at the hospital where they had to pump my stomach.

"So. That's where I'm at." I looked back the bathroom attendant who listened to my harrowing tell of ass-hatery and mistakes, complete with near death experience.

I looked at myself in the mirror again. Nothing puffy yet, but I would have to keep an eye on it. I don't have an epi pen, because who often are you accidentally exposed to roughy fish? I hopped that I was able to throw it up in time.

The bathroom attendant handed me a small cup of mouth wash. I gladly took it and swished it around my mouth before spitting it back into the cup and dumping it into the sink.

"You should probably go." He advised. "You can't hide in here forever."

I nodded. The thought of seeing Edward's face again made me want to crawl in a hole and die.

I opted for. . . the route of least resistance. I would just quietly leave. I don't think he would look for me. He might have already left while I was in here. I made my mind up, and walked out the bathroom and headed for the door. When I was outside I felt slightly better. My feet didn't stop. I kept walking. Away from it all. Away from the humiliation. The self deprecating. I wasn't myself in there. I wasn't anyone I recognized. At least out here in the brisk night air, I could breath and hear myself think for once. Though I had no kind thoughts for myself.

"Beau." I heard someone call my name as I was about to round the corner. To my dismay it was Edward. "Are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry Edward. I have to go. I don't belong here. This isn't my scene. I'm not part of this world. It's not for me. I was someone different in there. I couldn't see the menu because I guess their trying to save on their fucking electric bill in there. I couldn't hear myself think or talk. And I don't know how to be with you. I don't know how to be in the spotlight. Also, I may have to go to the hospital because I'm deathly allergic to orange roughy. That's a sign if I've ever saw one. So, if you'll excuse me. Thank you for everything. But I have to go."

I turned and walked away. I was reminded of the question I asked Alice earlier. How can I watch him walk away. I guess I answered that. I wouldn't have to, if I left first.

"Beau." His arm caught me. For a second I thought he was going to punch me, there was such a passion in his face. "Stop walking away for one damn second." Then he angled his face up to mine and before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine. With as much passion in his hands and body movement, his lips were remarkably light on mine. A tingle ran down my spine and despite myself I leaned into him. I had never felt something so electric before. It was like lightening on a sunny day. It didn't make sense, but it was magical and marvelous. I never wanted to step out of this moment, but I knew it had to end.

Reluctantly I pulled away.

"You're right." Edward said into my neck. He gripped my head so that I couldn't pull away too far. "You're absolutely right about that stupid movie. Don't be sorry for telling the truth. Don't be embarrassed for your opinions."

I tried to pull away again to remind him of my other faults. "I don't belong in there either, Beau. I wanted to impress you, but you're right. That place was too much. And to be honest, the fish wasn't even that great. I couldn't hear myself either. And as far as the world you don't belong in. I don't belong there either. No one does. That world, the whole, celebrity world. . . it doesn't exist. It's not a place anyone can live. It's not real and I hate trying to pretend to survive in it. I just want to find a man I can love and live in a house with a big kitchen, and a fuzzy rug in the living room and have big hairy dogs. And just. . . fuzzy things and sweaters and a big green couch that I can read on when the weather is rainy. Just like, cozy and warm out of the spotlight with someone by myside. Someone who makes me think, and laugh, and see the world differently, and make me fall in love with things I've seen a thousand times before. And dammit, Beau, I didn't want those things until I read your first book."

"What?" I stepped back, stumbling, but Edward caught me.

"Your first book. 'The Redlight Inn.' I read it while I was on tour last year and I loved it. I loved it. I wasn't kidding when I said I was a fan of your work. It actually made me sad that you didn't believe me. I am. I fell in love with your words. they made me feel something real, Beau. And it's hard to get that. And then I preordered your second book and read it in a single day. And then today. You're writing is honest and brave and I fell in love. I know that sounds insane—"

This time I grabbed his face and angled myself into his lips. We crashed together again, with more urgency this time. Not as light, but just as powerful. Like the tides of the ocean, our lips pushed and pulled at each other. Just as before electricity tingled down me again.

"I'm not done." Edward pulled away and laughed. "And then you just waltz in like the breeze and sit in front of me. I didn't know who you were at first." He shook his head and laughed again. "'You're eyes I've seen a million times, but they looked up at me from a book, and I felt at home in their light.'" Edward repeated part of the inscription I wrote to him on the inside cover of the book I left on his table earlier that day. "That's beautiful." He smiled.

"So are you." I said slowly. "I'm sorry for my behavior. I'm a mess. I really am. You don't know me that well, but I'm not good at handling situations. I'm not good at being around people."

"Okay." Edward nodded. "I'm not either. Come on, let me take you back to my place. Get away from the crowds and the situations." He offered me his hand.

I reached out to him, but held back. "Do you think we can go to the hospital first? I wasn't kidding about the roughy allergy. I'm beginning to think the light headedness I'm feeling has less to do with the kissing and more to do with my body trying to kill itself."

"Oh." Edward grabbed my hand and called the driver with the car around.

He sat with me in the waiting room of the nearby ER. While people kept staring at us, we just talked. And talked. Nobody dared bother us. We kept talking about our lives and our passions and our goals and our failures. Though we lead such different lives, our interests were the same and out ideals were too. I felt the bridge that I had worried about, the one I would have to cross when it came time to for him to leave, disappearing in the ever growing distance. Edward was just as shy as I was, only he was better at pretending than me. We talked about all the things you shouldn't talk about on the first date, our past boyfriends, or girlfriends in his case. Our struggles and demons. Our future and how we could fit in it. This, like the kiss, was electrifying. Instead of depleating my social tank, talking with him seemed to fill it up, till I could burst.

When the doctor came in to check me out he asked how I was feeling. He turned on a bright spotlight to check out my eyes and tongue. I didn't know how to answer him. The closest I could get was, "whole."

* * *

 **AN: I honestly struggled having them be awkward with each other so I could actually make this story and have them make a come back. So, if that felt weird. It felt weird for me too.**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing.**

xoxo

 **\- Rosalie**


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